


The King & The Scholar

by Thilbo



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Human, Courtship, M/M, Middle Ages, More tags will appear as the story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-28 14:34:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thilbo/pseuds/Thilbo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins is a young, bright, and independent scholar of the Royal Durin Academy who lives a simple life with only one goal in mind: to pass the Commissioner's Exam. It is all he ever sought in life and not fatuous things like friends, wealth, and love. He most certainly did not seek the attention of the King as that is exactly what bumped into him, quite literally. And now that he has caught the attention of the King, mostly due to his ever so sharp and unfiltered tongue, his simple life is not so simple anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First and foremost, this fic is completely AU because I made the setting based of off the late Medieval/early Renaissance era as the world of Middle Earth does not exist in this at all and the fact that everyone is human. I somewhat wanted to branch away from setting this story in Middle Earth mainly because there are more than enough Thilbo fics that center around that, so I opted for a historical AU. Also, this is my first chaptered series in the Hobbit/Thilbo fandom, so bear with me guys and enjoy!

The golden-haired young man trudged along the halls of royalty as quickly and carefully as he could, numerous scrolls and documents tightly tucked in between his arms, the soft and easily rippable material flimsy in his grip. Of course, no one in their sensible mind would run in the halls with such important documents, most especially not this young man with his head leveled correctly on his shoulders.

Indeed, he is an individual with more sensibility and vigilance than half the aristocrats and nobles combined in these colossal halls, the very ones that mock the young man with their pristine pillars and smooth grounds that he trudges on. This young man is one who lives his life on watchfulness and alertness, guarding himself against any danger or persons that can imminently put his personal ambition at risk. He lives his life on the edge on the hope of securing his dream and thus, hopefully leaving this hellhole of a place that is so graciously called the “ _Palace of one’s dreams_ ” when truly, it is just a house full of hypocrisy and malevolence, of humans with dark souls and intent.

If it were not for his aim to become a Royal Commissioner, he would have long left the Palace and would have rather been a beggar on the streets than to live a false life with the so called  _nobles_ that shame themselves to no end. The very nobles who are a total loss in regards to their own dignity and self-respect, the very swines that inhibit these halls, the brutes who are full of nothing but contempt and disgust for the young man.

Heeding no more thoughts to the foul dwellers of the palace, the young man securely tucks the valuable scrolls under his arms and runs with his upmost strength, his dark cloak swaying at his hips in harsh movements, slowing him down. It also did not it help that his black and gold doublet was irritating him, it's tight sleeves and rough material scraping harshly against his skin, it's close-fitting belt around his waist drawing the air out of his lungs. He never liked wearing the damned things but it was a decree to wear the attire when in the Palace, most especially among scholars and those attending the academy. _Damned be the man who made such a decree_ , thought the young man bitterly.

With a quick swipe to his cloak, and a series of foul words under his lips in annoyance, the young man heads to the end of the hall, making a turn into the left corridor when he is suddenly propelled back in trice, his eyes grasping at everything and nothing before landing harshly on his behind, a small gasp escaping his lips. He straightens himself up on his elbows, his gaze running all over the marble floor, his precious documents on top of him few in number.

The young man slowly releases a painful sigh from his lips when a dull ache pounds in his spine and all over his lower back. He reaches his hand to his aching and pulsing backbone that had hit the concrete floor with a considerable amount of force, his fingers lightly running over the clothed skin. He winces at his own touch and was in no doubt certain that a bruise would blossom there soon enough if not already.

Although the pain to his back and legs were attention worthy, the young man quickly and sharply draws his eyes to the floor where his precious scrolls have taken their own beating, some scrolls opened and some documents of papers flown across the hall and into the garden circling the pillars of the hall. The young man clenches his hands in anger, his eyes scanning the floor with his belongings before his eyes come upon dark boots, a mere foot away from him.

The young man notices that the boots were adorned with aubergine lace ribbons, a rarity of material uncommonly wore among the average person. The dark boots and laced ribbons were followed by full silk breeches, soft pleats at each end of the waist. The young man draws his gaze up a little more towards the figure in front of him, noticing narrow gold points tied in bows at the waist followed by a rare colored satin doublet that was somewhat covered by a Byzantium and gold colored hip length cloak, a cloak that surely belonged to no ordinary person. A cloak of such length and color were by no means garment that an aristocrat could afford, let alone the common person.

The young man knew from the instant he had laid his eyes upon the laced boots that he was in the presence of no average person. Indeed, the aura that stifled the hall was far too overwhelming, far too  _regal_ to have belonged to a commoner. And his speculation blossomed into fruition as a small but eye-blinding fibula glinted into the noon air, shining in all its brilliance. A fibula that was eerily familiar to the young man although he could not quite recall where he had seen it. 

The young man squints his eyes, drawing all his attention to the fibula that was elegantly placed onto the tall figure’s chest and notices three lily wreaths that were gracefully yet powerfully held in tact by two golden dragons, their sleek and fearsome heads turned in opposite directions, as if they were being pulled by an imaginary chain, holding them down, suppressing them, _taming_ them. 

An airless breath stills in the young man's throat, his eyes not daring to leave the golden fibula as he suddenly recalls where he had seen the blasted thing, his mind reeling in those endless days where he was a newcomer to the Academy six years back. He had spent endless nights in the library, reading and researching to no end when one weary night, he stumbled upon a small but elegant drawing of the fibula, a small subtext underneath with a brief history and explanation of the jewel. 

Without one’s doubt, the lilies and dragons that lay upon the fibula were symbols that belonged to none other than the one and only Royal Family of the Durin’s. He was in the presence of _true_ Royalty as the fibula represented the Durin Family's might, status, authority, and supremacy.

The young man slowly unclenches his fist, cursing under his lips as his luck would have it that he would run into one of the snobby and painstakingly arrogant members of the Royal Family. His oh so wonderful lady luck.

“You twit! How dare you lay there in leisureliness when my Sire has collided with you?! Bow your head and plead for forgiveness at once!” A man much shorter than the handsomely dressed figure shouts with anger and disgust written all over his horrid looking face, his old and tired eyes gazing upon the young man who slowly rises to his feet, returning the heated gaze twice fold, making the short man gasp in disbelief at the disrespect. As if the young man could care about such a thing at the moment.

“Precisely my point, Sir. Your Master here collided _with_ me.” The golden-haired young man calmly spits through his teeth, bringing his attention to the raven-haired figure who had an unreadable emotion on his not surprisingly dashing face. “The collision was between _two_ people, not one. So if there must apologies, then I say it is only right and fair that _two_ apologies be spoken.” The golden-headed young man bluntly exclaims into the dark eyes of the taller man, not paying any heed to the baffled short servant. The taller and dark-haired man directly fixes his gaze onto that of the young man’s, the two silently holding each other’s gaze for a very short period of time, the young man not even blinking once, not showing any signs of weakness or submissiveness before the short servant dashes in between them.

“You wretch! Do you know whose presence you are in?! How dare you address my Master with such eyes and such voice! And what more to ask of an apology from my Master! Ha!” The short man sarcastically snorts, his horrid face wrenching into layers of old, tired, and broken skin, “Death would come to you easier than an apology from my Master, I tell you!”

“‘If I could, I would take death here and now rather than to ask for forgiveness from this _'Master'_ of yours. But alas, I need to be alive for a quite a while, so death is not an option for me, now is it?” The young man asks with a mockingly bitter smile as he withdraws his gaze from the rendered speechless servant and back to the raven-haired man who merely raises an eyebrow. “If your Master does not apologize, then I see no need to do so either.” The young man firmly says as the raven-haired man watches him with dark eyes, an unreadable glint flashing through his eyes, catching the young man's breath at the sheer intensity of it before it disappears.

The raven-haired man slowly withdraws his gaze from the young man in silence and scans the hall that is covered with pastel colored papers, documents, and scrolls. Objects that surely belong to the Palace’s archive, objects that none but the Royal Family, the noble, and the aristocrats have access to. And yet, here was a youngster, not even a noble but a young lad who had not one, nor two, nor three, but a whole stack.

The raven-haired man returns his attention to the motionless young man who cautiously eyes his in return, his eyes bold, blunt, and unafraid. The raven-haired man walks past his servant, not heeding him any attention because surely, the only thing going on in that old servant’s mind is why his Master was  _eyeing_ the young brat when he should be _condemning_ him for being so ill-mannered and offensive, which really, bored the royal man. He was tired and weary of servants and their obtuse mindsets. 

“Your name.” The raven-haired man asks with a tone that was neither a question nor a request. It was a simple sentence uttered with calamity and power, his gaze narrowing down onto the young man who returns the look with a slow lick to his bottom lip, unknowingly stimulating a slow curl of warmth and desire within the raven-hair man.

“My name? So the apology that you owe me for colliding into me and for sustaining injuries and probably bruises onto my back is not important? Nor an apology for destroying some of my work? None of those are important but my name is, dear _Sire_?” The young man asks with a tone that was dripped with sarcasm and hostility on the last word, leaving the servant baffled and the raven-haired man provoked with fascination. “I think not. You shall not hear my name nor shall I give you the pleasure of hearing it.” Exclaims the young man as he narrows his eyes down onto the raven-haired man, their eyes meeting in a slow but unwavering silence.

Neither were backing down, neither were looking away, and neither were willing to submit to the other, despite the obvious status rank between the royal man and the young man, the aura around them stifling and strained, vehement in the most thrilling way possible.

Hesitant that he might do more damage than already intended, the young man snaps their locked gazes into pieces and swiftly turns around from the raven-haired man, quickly picking up the scrolls and documents two at time, the raven-haired man intently watching him from behind. The young man could  _feel_ the heated gaze on his back but he heeded no attention to it because he must get away from this man. He has to get away before he does something worse.

Not that he was _afraid_ to do something far worse because truly, he was afraid of very few things in his life. Point in fact, the young man never once cared for the nobles and aristocrats and their ranks in society. None of that ever stopped the young man from speaking his mind when he felt they were being unjust and cruel simply due to the fact that they were wealthier than the common person.

He especially despised them when he felt they were acting superior simply _because_ of their assets and their “royal” family lineage, going about and doing things that the common man would be condemned for with death but not them should they be caught in the act. Oh no, they were of royal blood, of precious nobility with special treatment, always using the same old "God had given them the right" excuse should they be brought to justice, shamelessly proclaiming nonsense in God's name when really, it was just a load of idiocy made up by men for men.

He could not stand such people and this raven-haired was no different.

But of course, if one decides to disobey the noble, then a punishment is to be expected. And since the young man spoke his mind a little _too_ much today, one thing was quite certain: the young man was in dire trouble. Most especially by that damned short servant as he just witnessed his “Master” being ridiculed and ignored. There was no say in what the consequences would be but they would surely come because a mere commoner acting in such way with Royalty was not to be taken lightly. That, however, was not going to stop the young man from going about his way as he was neither disturbed nor fearful of the taller raven-haired man.

He was not daunted by him in the least bit.

And the young man made sure to portray that message loudly and clearly towards the raven-haired man as he nosily stacked his scrolls back into his arm, raising his gaze up to that of the taller man’s. The young man sharply and scornfully bows his head before sneeringly mouthing “ _Dear Sire_ ” as a farewell greeting with an enticing pair of tongue and lips, raising his head back up and holding it high.

The young man's eyes shine with an irritated glint as he stares down the taller man once more before he practically _pushes_ his way between the raven-haired man and the short servant. He loudly and harshly trudges down the hall and turns into the left corridor, completely disappearing from the sight of the speechless servant and the enticed raven-haired man who bites the inside of his lip.

The raven-haired man slowly closes his eyes as he listens to the sound of the young man’s shoes, the loud clacking engrossing the halls and corridors with their rhythmic pattern over and over before the footsteps get further and further. And in due time, silence triumphs over the halls with the sound of the young man's shoes to be found no more, leaving the royal man empty and on the edge, as if the sudden silence was enveloping him in it's dark embrace, mocking him for the loneliness he suddenly felt.

The raven-haired man turns around and stares down the empty corridor where the young man had walked not more than a minute since, remembering the young lad's dark eyes that had a quality of intrepidity, depth, and so much more than the royal man could have hoped to know about the young man. Or rather, far _less_ than the royal man could find satisfaction in. 

And just like that, the raven-haired man's orbs shine bright with a sudden realization and disturbance, the sort of disturbance that was raw and powerful in it's bare form, fighting its way out to lay claim to a new desire, _to lay claim to the young man_ his shrewd and icy mind supplies.

The royal man closes his eyes again and allows this newly found hungerfor the young man, that was slowly boiling within him, to come up to the surface, heating his skin up as his attire suddenly becomes too warm and too itchy for his body, clawing it's way to free itself. He exhales a dazed sigh, his lips twitching into a smile as he eagerly accepts and welcomes the edgy want for the arousing, thought provoking, and challenging young man, his body glowing and humming with the mere _thought_ of him.

He slowly opens his eyes, his body flying free with the sensations of desire, lust, and want, sensations that were slyly hidden within him, waiting till the day the right person came along and unleashed it, raw and powerful, just like the golden-haired lad's eyes. The royal man turns away from the short servant, masking his emotions into an unreadable face, making sure that this new thirst towards the young man was concealed from the eyes, mouths, and minds of the halls and of those who inhibit it. He has more than enough of them breathing down his neck on a daily basis. 

The royal man softly smiles to himself as his own footsteps start to engross the halls, silence releasing it’s sharp and deafening claws from his warm and thrumming being, scurrying away and allowing the calm clacks of the royal man's laced boots to overtake the halls, the air around him drawing everything to him, his presence illuminating the path with sheer radiance. He walks with slow, easy, and powerful steps, everything and everyone turning to him in awe and in fear, instantly bowing their heads to him, rightfully as they should. All but one.

 _"Let the chase of the mighty wolf and the witty rabbit begin."_ The King whispers to himself in amusement.  


	2. Chapter 2

“You came quite overdue than you were originally expected, Bilbo.” The elderly man calmly says as he idly sits in his seat, thoroughly examining the scrolls on his desk, his eyes never leaving the paper as he dipped his pen into the ink bowl, not even concerning himself with the breathless Bilbo who tightly clutches onto the “overdue” scrolls.

“Forgive me, Sir. I ran into some—disturbance on my way. I intended to be here at the time that was expected of me but I failed you. My sincere apologies once again, Sir.” Bilbo softly says as he bows his head and slowly bows forward from the waist, sincerely regretting for being late, which truly, was not his fault. That position was reserved for that damned raven-haired man.

“Oh come now, spare me the formalities and whatnot, young’un. _"_ The elderly man gently says as he waves his hand so that Bilbo retracted from his bow and slowly made his way to the elder’s desk, his aged but sharp blue orbs glistening, his white beard smooth and lush as ever. “Now, my only concern with you is in regards to the scrolls and how far you managed to get _._ ”

“Well Sir, seeing that I only had three days and naught more, I educated myself as much as I possibly could. Although I am not entirely sure that three days were enough, I have acquired the necessary elements of the topic. I shall be fine for the exam, Sir _._ ” Bilbo says as he lays the said scrolls down on the elder’s desk, slowly taking a seat across from the elder.

“You truly are prodigious, I'll give you that. To have already attained the facts and specifics of the topic in under three days is no small feat. That is something that not even I was able to do when I was preparing myself for the exam. You might surpass me any day now, young’un _._ ” The elder says with a twinkle in his eyes as he proudly gazes onto his pupil whose lips had sprouted a small smile, his hazel eyes gleaming with a subtle joy.

“You think too highly of me, Sir. I still have quite a considerable length to cover before I am able to even rank in the same league as you. I still have great lengths to go.” Bilbo softly says more so to himself than to the elder before he raises his head, gently smiling at the elder who nods in return his head before picking up another one of his scrolls.

“Great lengths indeed. But I dare say that I would one day imagine myself, a jurist from the Ten-Men Commission, as someone that steals scrolls from the Royal archive to help a young’un study and prepare for the Annual Commissioner’s Exam. Life truly is interesting, do you not think so, my dear boy?” The elder asks with a gentle smile as he leans back into his chair, the sunbeams from the window lightly hitting his handsome yet aged features, his long white beard gleaming, his blue eyes shining like the trickle of gloss over the ocean.

“Oh Sir! Do forgive me to even put you in such a position. A man of your caliber and honor should not be taking scrolls from Royal archive for a peasant like myself. Please forgive me for being so greedy and self-seeking, dear Sir.” Bilbo softly and remorsefully says, his voice drowning to a whisper as he hangs his head in self-loath, because truly, he was making his beloved and most respected elder secretly steals scrolls from the Royal Archive, a feat that is not only shameful but utterly wrong.

If only Bilbo were of royal blood or of some sort of nobility because then he would be allowed free and unlimited access to the archives, reigning the elder free from doing such a horrible task as secretly taking them for Bilbo. But alas, Bilbo is a mere commoner and such is his life.

“Oh Bilbo. My dear, dear Bilbo. _”_  The elder says with a tender tone that of a father as he releases his hand from the scrolls and instead lightly places them on Bilbo’s hands across the table.  _“_ Do not  _ever_ express regret for making an old man like me steal scrolls and documents from the archives. Of course, it is not right to do such an act but I would rather help a bright and intelligent young man like you than to sit in the dining halls of the corrupt and senseless nobles. I would rather steal to help a gifted young man than to eat with my brainless colleagues.”  The elder softly says as he gives a reassuring squeeze to Bilbo’s hand who bites his bottom lip in gratitude, his eyes taking in the warm and familiar sight of the elder, _his_ elder as both men smile at each other with warmth that surely belonged between a father and his son.

“Thank you, dear Sir, for having such faith in me. Faith that my very own father never had in me _._ ” Bilbo softly and bitterly says, images of his father’s horrid figure slowly but surely emerging in his mind, threatening to come out and destroy his now stable life, as if the wretched man was still here, right in front of Bilbo with that horrid sneer on his and those vile words that took Bilbo apart and hurt him over and over, making Bilbo collapse to his knees only to rebuild him before cutting him down again. Bilbo might have physically left his father and his old life but the man still haunted him. “I do not know how to repay you, dear Sir, for raising me up to become such a person. A person that I myself can’t recognize at times.” Bilbo whispers with gratitude in his eyes as he truly and quite literally owed the elder his life.

Bilbo was able to escape his vicious father and dim-witted of a mother because it is thanks to none other than this gentle and heartfelt elder. An elder who spends most of his days reading and writing for countless hours, trying to come up with ways to help Bilbo pass the Commissioner’s Exam, as if Bilbo’s success depended on him. As if Bilbo’s happiness was _his_ happiness.

“My dear boy, I consider you as my son and as your father figure, I cannot put in plain words how proud and pleased I am with you. My dear Bilbo, when I first found you, you were naught more than a boy that was dirty, lost, and lifeless but now, _now_   you are one of the most cleverest and brainiest young’uns in this whole kingdom, if not the only one!” The elder exclaims with great happiness as he grabs Bilbo’s large hands in his old and brittle ones. “Indeed, raised you I have my dear boy, with great pride and joy might I add, but in regards to the person you are at this present moment, I must say that it is not my doing but _yours_ , my dear boy. You have risen to such height and status because of your dedication and your will-power to learn. I had nothing to do with that _._ ”

Bilbo silently sits there as the elder fondly smiles, gazing into Bilbo’s orbs with gentle and sincere eyes that Bilbo rarely witnessed in his past life, a gaze that was specifically reserved for him by the elder that was like a father to him, like family.

Truly, the elder had such authentic eyes that Bilbo has yet to see even them once in the eyes of the nobles in the numerous years he has been in the Palace of the Durin’s, only confirming his disgust for the brutes and nobles who only had two types of expressions: power hungry and morally corrupt.

“Thank you, dear Sir. For everything.” Bilbo says with a hushed voice that the elder knew all too well, a voice that meant Bilbo was trying to hold back his emotions, trying to appear as if he was not on the verge of tears. The elder tenderly smiles at Bilbo before the grand door to his room was swings open by one of his servants who quite literally dashes in breathlessly.

“Sire! The Commission is starting much earlier than expected. I was told to convey the message to you and the other nine commissioners. A meeting is being held as we speak.” The servant hurriedly says in one breath before the elder smiles and replies back with “ _I Understand. I shall leave right now._ ” and bids the servant farewell. Bilbo slowly rises to his seat to leave the elder so that he can prepare for the council but was quickly stopped at voice of the older man.

“Dear boy, you once asked me how you can repay me for the hospitality I have shown you, did you not?” The elder asks with an inquiring tone as Bilbo slowly turns around and nods his head, his brows drawn in curiosity and uncertainty. “Well, I have a proposition for you: if you pass the Commission’s Exam, you must tell my why you are so keen on getting into the Commission. If truth be told, in the years we have known each other, you have not once uttered to me why you want to take the exam when you could be so many other things. You never explained to me why you are so determined to pass, Bilbo Baggins.”

At those words, Bilbo’s eyes dilate twice their size in uneasiness as his hands timidly play with each other, his heart suddenly beating hard and painfully against his chest, almost as if someone had knocked him with a club, making stars linger above his head, his gaze swimming over chestnut brown locks, a pair of thin lips smiling down at him, warm and beautiful. The elder rasps out a hearty chuckle as he grabs his cane and cloak, drawing Bilbo out of his silent and sudden reverie with the elder slowly making his way towards the uncommonly timid Bilbo who towered over the elder, merely gawking in silence and discomfort. A rare sight of the mighty and aloof Bilbo indeed even after so many years, the elder notes as he fondly smiles up at the young lad.

“You thought you could deceive this old man, dear boy?” The elder asks with a glint in his eyes as lightly pats Bilbo’s left arm. “I may be old but not naïve, my boy. I know that you have a purpose for trying to pass the exam, a purpose that has nothing to do with the politics or ethics of the Commission. I am positive that you have other motives, my dear boy but all in due time I am sure. I shall get my answer after the examination I presume.” The elder says with a smile as Bilbo releases a strained breath he was not even aware of  holding before he lightly nods his head, returning a weak and timid smile to his elder.

The elder fondly beams at Bilbo once more before he makes his way to the door where Bilbo rushes to open. The elder waves his hand as he slowly trudges down the corridors of the Palace before disappearing all together from Bilbo’s sight, leaving Bilbo alone in the prestigious halls of the Durin Palace that felt as if they were slowly closing in on him.

 

 

* * *

 

Bilbo slowly makes his way out from his dormitory and down the corridor that led to the Commission’s Main hall. Bilbo walks down the marble floor that was brightly illuminating the ceiling of the halls, making Bilbo internally snort. Brilliance and novelty was most certainly evident in these halls, more so now than seven days prior when he had first met that blasted raven-haired man and his grating servant. It had been seven days since and yet, the image of those two was still vivid in Bilbo's mind, the raven-haired man's face more so than the servant's. It was as if not a day had gone because the memory felt so fresh and just so _there_ , lingering in Bilbo's mind.

As Bilbo caught a glimpse of the grand entrance to the Commission’s hall and how baron it was, he knew that he would have to wait awhile until his elder was done with the other nine of the Ten-Men Commission, a position that Bilbo was resolute about. He was practically putting his life on this position and he will attain it if it’s the last thing he does.

Sensing that it’s pointless to wait by the entrance of the hall, Bilbo leisurely makes his way to the Commissioners Hall’s stunning garden that was hand designed by the King himself. Or so the rumors say. Point in fact, the King has a degree of rumors that viciously follow him, mostly those associated with his personal and sexual life, something that Bilbo could really care less about as he rarely put his trust into the realm of rumors.

In fact, if truth be told, Bilbo knew naught about the very King that ruled over him since his arrival at the Palace years ago after having passed the Durin Academy exam. Bilbo has yet to even  _see_ the King in all the years he has been in the very Palace that the King _resided_ in. Then again, that comes as no surprise since the King rarely walks his own halls and corridors, let alone _leave_ his quarters. And whether that is a wise decision or not on the King's part, endless rumors and gossip circulate the halls about the King and all things related to him because of his complete mysteriousness.

Of course, none of the rumors nor gossip interest Bilbo because he could truly care less about the man.

And as such, thinking that he had given the unknown King more than enough attention of his conscious, Bilbo grabs one of his scrolls as he sits himself down on a small yet pleasant bench that was heavily surrounded by exquisite flowers of various colors and shapes, illuminating the young scholar's natural and simple beauty, completely unknown to the said man himself as his eyes lazily scans the dark and inked words of the scroll.

Although it was no secret in the halls of the Academy and the Palace that Bilbo was a brilliant young man, it was also no secret that he was a young man of physical splendor and magnificence. To such an extent, that other students, scholars, and even nobles could not help but notice the loveliness and attractiveness that Bilbo unknowingly emitted. The type of aura, beauty, and presence that most nobles lacked due to sheer bad luck, and most probably because of family genetics, but aspects that were profoundly evident in Bilbo because most people easily and quickly noticed how splendid of a creature Bilbo was.

Everyone but himself of course.

He did not see himself as beautiful, handsome, nor dashing. Nay, he saw himself as an average looking young man who had an ambition that must be attained and goals to be sought after. Even more so, Bilbo saw himself as someone that pleased _himself_ rather than others with his looks and physicality. It was his and only his approval that mattered most to his well-being, not those of nobles and aristocrats. He could care less should he look like a monkey!

But alas, reality has a different tale to tell because his beauty and splendor never goes unnoticed no matter how much he claims that he is plain looking. The world in which he lives is one of superficial standards, of black and gray, of what is acceptable and what is not. And unfortunately, Bilbo's petite body, golden hair, pale skin, thin lips, and doe eyes are _exactly_ what this superficial world, and its wretched inhabitants, desire the most. It's Bilbo's outer appearance, his physicality alone that draw the swines to him, that make him okay in their eyes because he is beautiful and handsome. It is fools like these that irate his skin, boiling his blood because there is clearly much wrong with the world when one's appearance has more value than one's inner heart.

Much wrong with the world indeed, Bilbo sourly thinks as he rereads the same paragraph again for the second time when the doors to the Commission Hall suddenly propel open, two servants quickly emerging before numerous scholars, aristocrats, and other nobles strolling out in there lazy and proud manner, some openly staring at Bilbo who was long lost in his reading, his head bent low, hands lazily holding the scroll to his face.

Some men make their way to other halls and corridors while another batch slowly make their way to the gardens where Bilbo took refuge. He tries to not pay too much attention to the looming presences that head his way, men that surrounded him, some pretending to be occupied with the flowers when in fact they were trying to find the right moment to start a conversation with Bilbo. This was a reoccurring instance,  one that Bilbo wanted to burn with fire because these men did nothing but meddle around him, all trying to draw his attention. They would occasionally take peeks at Bilbo or the scroll he was reading but it wasn’t too long before they irritated him. These affluent men were nothing but of nuisance to Bilbo because he knew exactly what went on in those vile minds of theirs as they circled Bilbo, all of them revolving around that one single thing.

It disgusted Bilbo to no ends at the fact that these “ _upright_ ” and married men would take interest in a young scholar when in fact, they had wives and children to go back home to; to a patient and most probably a loving family that Bilbo never opportunity of being blessed with.

“Disgraceful swines _._ ” Bilbo grumbles in annoyance under his breath as he slowly inches his way towards the right of the bench when one of the scholars gets a bit too close and familiar with Bilbo, who had no intention of letting any of the men near him. He’d rather be pricked by the endless thorns of the flowers than to let these sickening men speak to him, let alone _touch_ him.

As Bilbo keeps edging away from the stubborn scholar and his sleazy smile, his body looming towards Bilbo whose back was about to be truly pricked by the thorns of the flowers, his thighs nearing the end of the bench, he suddenly hears a familiar yet annoying voice that captures the flirtatious scholar’s attention as he turns his head in the direction the voice.

Bilbo blankly stares at the short servant he had encountered about seven days ago, the very one that accompanied the raven-haired man as he now makes his way to where Bilbo was sitting, the short servant heaving his chest before scornfully looking at Bilbo and shooting him a sneer.

Bilbo returns the look and was just as hostile towards the short man, if not more before he turns his glare back towards the older scholar who was now edging away from Bilbo, although not off the bench completely.

“Is there something that I can assist you with, Azog?” The older scholar asks with obvious annoyance in his voice as he stares at the servant who immediately nods his head and straightens his legs, standing up right and proper when truly, he looked beat down and brittle in Bilbo's eyes.

“Forgive me for disturbing you but my Master has called for you just now.” Azog says as he turns around and points to the lobby of the Commission Hall where dozens of elegantly dressed men engrossed the lobby, wondering here and there while chatting among themselves.

The older scholar narrows his eyes in an attempt to see who Azog was pointing to but fails to find the person of interest, sighing and then intensely glaring at Azog because the short servant had disrupted his little attempt at trying to win Bilbo’s affections. Attempts that would have been a failure of grand proportions because Bilbo would rather bled to death by thorns than to allow this man to talk to him, let alone touch him.

Bilbo, however, had turned his attention to Azog’s finger and roamed the men before a certain yet familiar figure captured his undivided attention, the scroll in his hands completely forgotten, the short servant and the sleazy scholar now irrelevant because there stood out from the crowd of boring and plain men a tall figure with raven hair that rightly complimented his dark orbs and sharp facial features. Point in fact, this man’s features _alone_ made him look like royalty compared to all the other nobles encircling him, his whole demeanor graceful, majestic and dignified. As if he was some king with the world parting at his bidding, the air and people around him bending to his will.

Bilbo narrows his eyes to try to see better as the afternoon sunlight momentarily blinds him, giving him a blotched view of the raven-haired man before the tall dark figure slowly trudges out from the lobby and instead, stands near one of the pillars of the corridors, giving Bilbo a clear and perfect view of who he was, and alas, as Fate would have it upon her sly and cunning lap, there stood the man that had provoked Bilbo not seven days back.

Bilbo unknowingly inhales a sharp breath, his hands clenching around the scroll in his hand as he bites his bottom lip in emotions that he cannot quite grasp, emotions that he did not _want_ to confront, most especially if that blasted man was the reasoning behind them. In fact, just _seeing_ the raven haired man boiled Bilbo’s blood, something that was very uncommon for Bilbo as he had patience for practically any person, no matter how arrogant or superior they were. He did not allow anybody to get to him mentally nor physically because he was far too cunning to have condescending and idiotic royals riling him up. 

He was above their ways and yet, this man that Bilbo had met only once, not seven days ago, had caused his whole being to be on the edge at the mere _sight_ of him, Bilbo’s now alert eyes not daring to leave that of the raven-haired man's, his gaze already turned towards Bilbo, a dark glare practically pinning the scholar on the bench, as if scalding and branding Bilbo by the gaze, harshly and fiercely.

That gaze however changed direction as it was now not aimed at Bilbo but rather, the scholar who was seated next to him. Bilbo draws his gaze to the scholar out of the corner of his eye, noticing how the color from the scholar’s face had drained, the man looking ghastly as if he had just seen the devil himself, his expression tight and stiff, his skin pale.

Bilbo furrows his brows as he tries to understand why the man looked so afraid, so meek and withered, as if he just witnessed his whole life flash before his eyes. The wretched man looked so utterly afraid and uneasy that Bilbo felt a twinge of pity for him, his heart still stubbornly cold but beating nonetheless at the sight before he draws his gaze back to the hall where the short servant holds his hand out towards his Master once more, signaling the scholar to be up and about as to not leave his Master waiting any longer.

The scholar weakly lowers his head and raises it up as his orbs anxiously and uncomfortably eye the raven-haired man who was now on the other side of the garden with an unreadable expression, his brows drawn together, his lips pulled thin. Bilbo silently watches the pale scholar get up and slowly make his way towards the dark figure as Azog leads the way, two steps at a time.

Once the pale and frozen scholar was within the raven-haired man’s reaching distance, Azog leads them into the corridors and away from the Commissioner's hall, the three of them completely disappearing from Bilbo’s sight, leaving him alone confused and slightly curious. For a few short minutes, with the sun brightly beaming on his body, Bilbo sits there with the scroll in silence as he tries to decipher what just had occurred because truly, how did that wretched man know Bilbo was in the gardens? And why was he staring at Bilbo as if Bilbo had given him a sour fruit? And why on earth did he summon that sleazy scholar for? And where on earth did they go?  

Bilbo groans out an annoyed sigh at all the questions and no answers, his whole being quickly snapping out of his internal questioning because really, who cares what had just happened. It was not as if Azog had come for Bilbo, asking him to get up and to follow him, leading him to that blasted raven-haired man whose facial expression Bilbo could not read. Nay, Bilbo just so happened to sit next to the person of interest that the raven-haired man was eyeing, which oddly enough, made Bilbo's chest clench in that painful manner that he did not need nor want because he was not supposed to be this riled up over a man-nay, a royal!

With a curse, Bilbo exhales another sigh and draws his head up, quickly paying attention to his surroundings as he notices how all of the other scholars that had swarmed him not five minutes ago were now keeping their distance from the bench and the garden, some even retreating back into the lobby and the halls. Bilbo slowly roams his gaze over the men, quickly noticing the same eerie expressions in their eyes, their faces stiff and anxious, their bodies solid and unmoving, almost as if they were _afraid_ of Bilbo.

Although Bilbo did not know from what, it was quite evident they were scared because these men had some sort of fear written in their eyes, the whole aura around them distant and unkind, their cold and isolated gazes dropping down on Bilbo and pinning him in his place. They were obviously trying to imply something with their silent gazes, their words stuck in their throats for reasons unknown to Bilbo and as much as Bilbo would love to return the same taciturn jeer to the men, he was not intimidating in the least bit by them nor did he want to waste his time on them.

Their silence was not enough to scare Bilbo as he held his head up high, his hands quickly tying the scroll back up before he slowly mounts down from the bench and the garden all together. Bilbo easily and assuredly marches down the corridor in between the scholars that parted the pathway as if the seas were parting for him, their gazes still distant and cautious.

Bilbo takes bold strides towards the entrance of the Commission’s Hall and stops when he sees his beloved elder talking with one of the Ten-Men, they're stances rigid and heated, almost as if they were arguing over something. When Bilbo gets within the sight of the elder, the scowl on the man's face slowly disappears and is instead replaced with a gentle smile, his whole body welcoming Bilbo while the other elderly scholar keeps his distance from Bilbo.

The white bearded elder notices his colleague's stiff reaction before a sudden rage burns in him, his icy gaze quickly falling on his colleague, internally judging him for his not so subtle reaction towards Bilbo’s arrival. The elder seethes as he noticed other Commissioner’s also throwing the same look at Bilbo, his old but resilient mind yelling in disgust as to who these arrogant old men think they were in order to behave in such way towards a Bilbo, a brilliant scholar who neither bothered others nor so much as poked his nose in their affairs?

Suddenly too agitated with contempt and anger towards his colleague, the elder bids the man a quick farewell before he slips his hand through Bilbo’s arm and slowly leads the way down one of the corridors that lead to his quarters, his pace quickening with each step as he tightens his hold on Bilbo’s sure and warm arm. Bilbo softly smiles to himself at his beloved elder’s actions as he realizes that surely, he must have gotten his nature and personality from the elder himself. They were both hot-tempered and stubborn at times towards the nobles, letting their actions speak louder than their words. Like father like son indeed.

“These wretches! I dare say they know no manners when they were bred with the best of the best!” The elder grumbles to himself in fury as Bilbo slowly places his other hand over the elder’s while he gently leads the way now. “Simply because you are less ‘superior’ than them and younger, they think they ought to have the right to treat you in such cold and rude manner!”

“Dear Sir, please do not concern yourself with such things. You know just as well as I do that such acts mean nothing to me. They do me no harm.” Bilbo softly says as he turns left into the main halls that were the adjacent quarter’s to the Commission Hall, the elder’s own quarters not two halls down. “These people have naught better to act upon than to ridicule people such as myself. It’s is simply a game to them—” Bilbo’s sentence comes to a soft whisper as he realizes that he and the elder are in the same hall as the raven-haired man, his servant, and the scholar from the garden who looked as if he had lost his soul.

Bilbo instinctively bring his gaze up to the raven-haired man who had a look of a man in a serious discussion of an equally serious issue. In fact, the raven-haired man was so engrossed with the frightened scholar, he did not even notice that Bilbo was on the parallel corridor, not fifty feet away from him. Then again, why should he notice Bilbo when the man was nothing but a mere thorn against Bilbo’s skin, his mere existence a vile taste in Bilbo’s mouth.

Before rage and some other unknown emotions could plant their roots in Bilbo’s chest, Bilbo firmly secures the elder’s hand in his arm and rapidly leads them away from the corridors and out into the quarters of the elder, who was baffled and confused at this sudden turn because he could _feel_ Bilbo’s spike of uneasiness and anger, emotions that the younger scholar rarely, if at all, emitted.

“I say, my dear boy, this escapade was not expected _._ ” The elder gently says as he releases his hand from the heaving youngster’s arm as he makes his way to his office, Bilbo distantly following him. “To be so rash and swift without thinking, surely, something is troubling you, no?”

 _“_ Troubling me, yes.” Bilbo gently whispers to himself as he now stands outside the elder’s door, his gaze narrowed and glazed. “That man does not sit well in my mind, dear sir. He makes me feel these uneasy emotions. I cannot put it into words but he gives me eerie and untrustworthy feelings. Feelings which—”

“Frighten you?” The elder gently finishes as he stands in front his office door and intently eyes the unsure and fragile Bilbo that he had yet to see in so many years, as if he was suddenly looking at that little child he had met for the first time on the street side, so broken and unsure. “Is that what it is, my dear boy? Fear of that tall man who came out of the Commission council?”

“Yes. That man does not bode well with me, dear Sir. I have never felt such way towards anyone. Although, mind you that I am not afraid of him. I just have these unknown emotions towards him. As if my whole being despises him. And yet, in some odd and peculiar way, that disposition is not necessarily hate.” Bilbo softly says, his mouth aimlessly and unknowingly wandering off point as he tries to explain his chaotic emotions to his dear elder although clearly, he was not doing a very plausible job of it as he even had _himself_ confused. The elder intently listens to Bilbo for a bit longer until he notices that Bilbo was just becoming more and more agitated as stumbles over his words.

“My dear boy, to be so confused of that man is of the norm.” The elder gently starts as he noticed Bilbo’s sudden blank and still expression. “He is not like you and I. He is not a mere commoner like us. Indeed, I am a scholar of the highest degree and might arguably have some royal blood in me yet here I am downgrading myself to that man.”

“Precisely so, dear Sir. Why would you speak so highly of him and not of yourself when you are one of the greatest men I have ever encountered in my life, if not  _the_ greatest.”

“Then you have not had many encounters, my dear boy. There other greater and far more superior me than me. Others like that young man.”

“Dear Sir, you cannot expect me to believe that such a man is greater than you! I myself had an encounter with him not within the space of six days and I dare say that he comes nowhere near you! He is naught to you!”

“You are most likely judging that thought on the one or two words he must have spoken to you. But dear boy of mine, you cannot judge another in such manners.”

“But Sir—”

“That is not his real nature nor persona, my boy, as that encounter with him was a façade. That I am quite sure of because his true nature is one of complete brilliance with skills and abilities that took me years and years to attain whereas he learned them before the age of coming. Indeed, a man of such title should be no less.”

“A man of such title? What do you ever mean by that, Sir?” Bilbo asks in pure confusion now because this mysterious raven-haired man was truly becoming a dark shadow that just loomed over him, not leaving him be, merely clouding him, taking his sunshine and warm away, making him cower into the darkness.

“My dear boy, I have vowed under the Ten-Men Council that I shall not the reveal secret as it is known by only a few people and intentionally withheld from the general public but alas, you are more than worthy enough to know that the title that man rules over is none other than the King.” The elder slowly and cautiously says as he quickly notices the change of expression and color on Bilbo’s face before continuing. “Yes, my dear boy. He is our King. The one who has ruled over you and I since he was in his mother’s womb. Aye, surprise be written all over your face as I expected naught more but do not be surprised too much as none but the Ten-Men Council and a handful of nobles know of this secret. Even the people of Durin do not know what their mighty King appears as.”

“The King. _That_ man—?”

“Yes, dear boy. That man is our King. As matter of fact, the notion of all the scholars steering clear of you in the garden earlier was mainly due to their fear of associating themselves with the King’s—” The elder softly stops his sentence, his gaze strained and unsure, as if the next few words were causing him literal and physical pain to even say them. His gentle but cautious gaze lingers over Bilbo for a couple of seconds before he exhales a slow sigh, as if he was accepting defeat in a battle that Bilbo was not even aware of.

“The King’s _what_ , dear sir?” Bilbo softly asks as he notes the dramatic change of color on the elder’s face because for the first time in years, the elder looked uneasy and unsure, something of rarity to Bilbo as he had always regarded the white bearded elder as a figure of control and sage.

“The scholars and nobles in the garden were afraid to associate themselves with the King’s prey, Bilbo. I am guessing, nay, I am quite _certain_ that you have unknowingly become the King’s prey, my dear sweet boy.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I figured I would update on Valentine's day as a way to thank all of you for showing so much love and support to this fic. I really appreciate it! Thank you all so much and Happy Valentine's day! Also, the "elder" is Gandalf :")


	3. Chapter 3

“I am his— _prey?_ ” Bilbo quietly utters to himself, his face blank and void of emotion as he stares at his beloved elder. He stares and stares, trying to grasp the reality of what is happening, what all this means, his gaze now pleading into his elder’s eyes in hope of finding some sort of falsity that told Bilbo that the elder was just pulling his leg, or any other body part for that matter. "For one to be the King's prey sounds more of an impractical joke than anything else, Sir! I mean, what on earth _is_  a King's prey? Is it some sort of an amusement of a game for the King? A game that consists of ridiculing someone? Punishing them?"

Bilbo asks and asks only to find his mind aching, his body tired, and his mouth just a jabber of endless questions. And as talented and bright of a man Bilbo is, any answers to his questions are not quite coming out as he had hoped. His head throbbed not only at the thought of what a King's prey was but it has yet to even wrap itself around the idea that the young raven-haired man was the  _King_  of Erebor!

The elder himself proclaimed that the King never dwells in his own halls yet in the span of not six days ago, Bilbo had not only come _upon_  the said royalty, but  _collided_  into him! The very  _King_  himself!

“Oh my boy. I see that you are confused and I see that my silence is not helping either. I merely heard your name and the word 'prey' over and over during the last Commissioner meeting among my colleagues. And in frankness, this old man does not know how to console you in this matter as I myself was surprised to find out that the King has singled you out _._ ” The elder gently says as he steps towards Bilbo, taking the younger’s silky hands in his brittle ones.

“But I do not understand why I should be singled out by that man.” Bilbo bitterly proclaims with no energy as his whole being throbs in annoyance and impatience. That blasted raven haired man was truly becoming a dark shadow over Bilbo, constantly clouding over him and bringing nothing but trouble with him.

“Surely, you must have done something to have caught the King’s attention.” The elder gently presses as he gazes inquiringly into Bilbo’s eyes, the younger reliving his memories and thoughts of how he might have “ _caught_ ” the attention of the King. “Well, boy? Does an occurrence come to mind?”

“I do not know, dear sir. I have met the King only once—I dare call him King as it does not bode well in my mouth—but I do not seem to remember doing anything of any sort to have made him pay attention to me _._ ” Bilbo mutters in defeat, his head too clouded with the raven-haired man’s face and dark orbs.

“Dear boy,  _think!_ There must be something you had done to have caught the King’s attention. And let me tell you my boy, that in the years I have governed under this young King, I have learned that he is not easily impressed. So for him to have singled you out is no small feat. So think, my boy.” The elder says as he draws his gaze back to Bilbo who closes his eyes and relives the past couple of days in deep concentration, the memories of the previous days coming in like a harsh wave, Bilbo's mind stopping at one occasion, the _only_ occasion.

“Ah! One affair comes to mind.” Bilbo slowly mutters as he tries to find the logic in how that one meeting could have left an impression on the King when Bilbo had done naught more than to disregard the King. Indeed, if Bilbo is the King’s prey in the sense that he is to be executed or exiled for acting in such manner, then everything formulates together. But that is only if Bilbo is his prey in  _that_ sense. Indeed, for as much as Bilbo is acknowledgeable and intellectual about, there could be numerous and worse brands of the word “prey.”

“Well, dear boy? Do tell!” The Elder presses as he watches Bilbo silently doze off into his own thoughts, into his own little mysterious realm that not even the Elder could at times decipher.

“I only had one occurrence that man, Sir. And well, in the duration of our meeting, I must have said some things that do not sit well with him.” Bilbo softly explains as he notices how quickly the Elder’s brows raise up in confusion, then understanding, and then finally settling in shock.

“What do you ever mean, dear boy!? You are not meaning to tell me that you ridiculed the King as you do so towards other nobles and aristocrats!” The Elder as in concern and dread as he quickly places his brittle hands on the firm shoulders of Bilbo, pulling him closer. “Tell me, boy! Did you let you temper overshadow your rationality when you met the King?!”

“—But Sir. I had no inquisition that I was meeting a—king.” Bilbo softly mutters as the elder’s face drastically changes color, his body slumping in on itself in defeat, making Bilbo's heart tug at the pained looked on his elder's face, tug at the concern on the elder's hands as he tries to resettle his hold on Bilbo even though he is clearly upset at his pupil's irrational manner towards the King.

Bilbo knows and is very well aware that his temper and hatred towards the nobles was one of his shortcomings and it was not something that he hid from others. He never was one to cower, so truly, he saw no reason to kiss up to the royals, or anyone else for that matter. However, as deep and as bitter his hatred towards the noble maybe, Bilbo is not so foolish to aim it towards the King. He is not foolish enough to ridicule the King when he has yet to even attain his aim of befitting the role of a Commissioner. Indeed, Bilbo is no fool to terminate his livelihood when it has barely begun but alas, that is only applicable if Bilbo knew that the so called “ _noble_ ” he had met in the halls was none other than the King himself.

“So, you see, dear Sir, I had no knowledge of the fact that the everyday noble, as I presumed he was, I met in the hall was in actuality the King _._ ” Bilbo softly explains as the elder slowly shakes his head in disbelief. “If I had known that the damned man was the King, I would have at least watched my words and my temper.”

“My boy that is where the matter lies.” The Elder finally says in thought as he intently gazes onto the boyish yet sullen features of Bilbo. “Due to the nature of you not knowing that he was the King, you towered over him and came out victorious. Something that the citizens would not even dare to do to the  _nobles_  yet you did it to the King. Whether or not you had any prior knowledge to his status, the mere fact that you triumphed over the King is what set off the spark, Bilbo.” The elder gently says as he watches Bilbo’s eyes and expression soften at first before understanding and realization slowly creep into them. Bilbo had  _mocked_  the King.

“Sir—” Bilbo breathes out, doing his damned best  to keep his whole being from collapsing under him, his legs suddenly frail and empty of strength. How could he have been so careless and blind to mock and jeer at the King! The very man that ruled over Bilbo and all else. The only man that Bilbo had no power against.

“Oh Bilbo.” The Elder gently whispers as he draws his hands around Bilbo’s shoulders, drawing the frozen scholar into a warm and comforting embrace. “What is done is done. The only thing left is to beg for forgiveness before any of this gets too far. If word leaves the halls that a young scholar has jeered at the King, you will be punished severely.”

The Elder cautiously presses his hands around Bilbo's shoulders as he silently and anxiously waits for Bilbo’s response. A response that oddly revolved around slow breathing as the young scholar was yet again lost deep within his thoughts. The elder knew that to ask Bilbo to ask for forgiveness from the nobles was surely a task almost impossible as Bilbo would rather be sent to the galantines than to do such a thing. The elder knew that Bilbo’s pride and nature would not allow such a thing. And as much as the elder allowed Bilbo to make his own decisions, Bilbo was like the elder's very own son and for the elder to lose his son was not something that he would allow if he could prevent it from happening. Even if that meant making Bilbo submit to the King.

“Bilbo.” The elder softly inquires, his gaze gentle, his hands cautious on scholar's back. “Speak to this old man. Do not make me wait such an unbearable silence _._ ”

“Sir—”Bilbo slowly starts as he withdraws himself from the elder, his posture solid, his gaze determined, his voice firm. “My dear sir, you are my father and my mentor. You are the sole reason that I am alive, that I am even here right now. To listen to you and to follow you to the ends of the earth is my duty, not my choice. But to bow my head to  _him_ in forgiveness is not an option that I would chose should my life truly be on the verge of death. _”_

“You foolish child, you—”

“Indeed I may be foolish but I will do no such thing as to submit to him. Should the King come after me, let him come.” Bilbo ultimately says with glowing and resolute eyes, his gaze softening at the exhausted elder who slowly hangs his head in defeat. Bilbo tenderly places his arms around the Elder and draws the short him into his embrace, his growing body towering over his dear elder. “Please do not worry about me, dear sir. I am not afraid of that man be it that he is a King. I have lived my life without knowing what fear is and I will not start now simply because of him.”

Bilbo tightens his hold on the elder, as if assurance that he is fine and that he _will_ be fine. And with elder already defeated and too hopeless to make a case with a determined Bilbo, he merely nods his head as he tenderly wraps his arms around his not so small son anymore, lightly patting his back. The boy had truly grown up in the blink of an eye because it seemed as if it was only yesterday that he had found Bilbo, the dirty and broken child who barely knew how to speak, let alone read and write. And yet that same boy had become such an entity, he towered over others despite his common and impoverished background. Bilbo truly had become a man for one to squabble with.

And that, that was enough to make the elder think that maybe Bilbo is no fool after all. That as much as his temperamental and foolish boy had grown, that as much as he despised seeing his boy grow too much and far too fast, the elder could not help but _hope_ that maybe, just maybe, Bilbo would be able to withstand that King. That he too would tower over the King and come out whole and victorious like he does each and every other time. And although the elder had no idea as to how Bilbo would go about doing that, some sort of still hope lingered within him at the thought that Bilbo could match up to the King, that the King might have just met his match.

 

 

* * *

 

Fuming with anger and frustration, Bilbo picks up his pace twice fold as he turns into that familiar court hall that he would rarely visit as it was swarming with those prideful and arrogant nobles and scholars. And as much as he would have rather been in his room reading and writing, Bilbo had no choice but to march into the hall as it was his duty today to teach and enlighten the younger generation of scholars, who in fact were around his age, if not a little younger.

Bilbo neared the hall and noticed the familiar entrance to the lobby of the Great Hall that was like a dining quarter with it's vast walls and loft ceilings, housing long tables with numerous chairs on either side, a handful of game tables also placed in the corners with the King’s throne at the center of the elaborately painted wall. This hall was more so like a library with a theatrical side to it than a dining hall although most still refer to it as the Great Dining Hall since that was its original use when it was first built decades ago.

And as Bilbo entered the hall, he expected his students to be already seated in their specified tables and already commenced in their days work, he found his students—well, _not_ studying. Bilbo furrowed his brows as he cast his gaze amongst his students, his feet slowly making their way to them, his eyes quickly noting the change of expression from the other scholars and aristocrats that were also crowding the hall, their gazes locked onto him as he neared his students. Surely, all this unwanted attention was due to that damned King and his little game of “ _prey_.”

Utterly and completely annoyed at the King and his ghost-like presence that never seems to leave him be, Bilbo slams his books onto the table, his students propelling back in shock and fear, some with their gazes quickly drawing to the floor while others up to their teacher. They silently watch their mentor exhale a series of heavy and slow breaths before he sharply faces them as they too quickly hang their heads.

“I say. My students, whom I have taught to mind their business and to focus on their studies are doing the exact opposite as my teachings _._ ” Bilbo fumes in anger more so in irritation towards the King than towards his students actions. They were just scapegoats when the real offender was the King, although his anger gave no care to that as it locked onto whatever target it so desired. “If you wish to gossip and go about acting like maidens who have naught better things to do than to criticize others, than I grant you permission to leave my class right now.” Bilbo challenges his students as each and every one of them silently hold their heads in their chests.

Bilbo exhales a sigh and sits himself down, silently eying his fear-filled students under his dark lashes. He softly exhales another breath before he retrieves his books and opens one to a designated place, quickly commencing his role as a teacher that shall have no hearsay in his class.  

 

 

* * *

 

“So exactly a fore-night from today, I would like to see your thesis and response to this topic. I want to know what my students think on such a sensitive matter as this, so those who do not get it done, expect a penalty.” Bilbo finalizes as he slowly closes his book and runs his gaze through his students who were cautiously eyeing him in return, their gazes glinting with obvious curiosity. Bilbo’s muscles tense up in irritation towards his students because truly, must he go through this again? Why were his students so keen on listening to gossip when it has naught to do with them? Why were they so keen in invading other's privacy when they should be damn well minding their own?

“Why must you all aim those cautious and fearful gazes on me, you fools?” Bilbo mutters with no energy, his hands slowly closing his books as he tries to ignore the countless gazes of his students on him. They were looking at Bilbo just as the scholars had looked at him in the garden; intrigued and attentive.

“S-Sir, we heard some strange rumors regarding you _._ ” One of the eldest students finally says as the other students quickly nod their heads in agreement as Bilbo brings his hand to forehead and slowly rubs his throbbing temples. His students truly could be so idiotic at times even if he was the one teaching them.

“For the all that is good in this world,  _what_  have I said about rumors, my dear pupils?” Bilbo asks as he glares at his students who avert his dark eyes. Bilbo sighs in defeat, his orbs irritated and tired. “Since it seems not a single one of you remember, allow me to explain it to you all one more time. If you do not know the whole story, then do not assume things. And to assume things about me from a mere ‘rumor’ is wrong.”

“But Sir! Everyone in the academy and in the halls know that you are associated with one of the royal kins of Durin.” Another student finally blurts out in brevity as the color in Bilbo’s face dramatically drains. The student, however, quickly sits back down and hides behind a friend as he notices an approaching figure behind Bilbo, who has just about had it with his students, and the rumors, and that blasted dark cloud that is the King.

“I dare say! To associate me with that man when you know naught about me nor that man is a ridiculous assumption! I have not raised my students to be of such manner and norm!” Bilbo exclaims in a quick and raging temper, his little body standing tall and fuming. “Also! I am not that man's prey or what have you! I am not some dish or appetizer that he can have whenever he is hungry. Let that man say what he wills about me but I will not let you all assume that I am his prey. Are we clear?” Bilbo finally proclaims with a deep release of a huff that slowly engrosses the hall, nothing but his harsh breathing could be heard. All was silent and all gazes in the hall were on the flushed and raging Bilbo as the students quickly nod in timidity towards their teacher before they hang their heads, whispering words to one another.

Bilbo releases a satisfied breath as he slowly scans the individuals around him that were oddly enough not staring at him, but rather— _past_ him. Bilbo furrows his brows in confusion for a mere second before he leans down and collects his papers, not heeding any attention to anyone because he needs to get away from here before he loses his sanity, his hands grabbing two books at a time, his body aching to run away. He has never felt so worn out in all his days in the Palace and he is more than ready to head back to his quarters, to be in his own solitude and confinement and away from these blasted people.

“I beg to differ, Scholar.” A low and steady voice states from behind Bilbo as all gazes in hall draw to the figure with the exception of the motionless Bilbo, the final book in his hand slowly slipping out of his hand and clattering onto the table. “To be that _man's_ appetizer surely sounds like an appealing suggestion.”  The voice continues as Bilbo feels it draw nearer and nearer before it was right behind him, the ghost of his breath slowly creeping it’s way around Bilbo’s nape, leaving harsh bumps on his skin.

All was silent in the hall and lobby as the scholars and students alike stare between the immobile Bilbo and the dark figure behind him. Bilbo slowly closes his eyes, his body thrumming with the unhealthy desire to just grovel this man into the ground and to blast him to the depths of hell, to be free of him and his dark orbs.

“Damn bastard.” Bilbo softly whispers to himself in irritation as he reopens his eyes, his gaze locked onto his students who were clearly and obviously in awe of the “royal” presence behind their teacher. Bilbo knew that these people had no idea that they were in the presence of the actual King. He knew that they were afraid of the man simply because he was of royal blood, a fact that scares most scholars and aristocrats as they do not dare to step in the way of true royalty. So it did not matter to them if they did not know he was the King because it only mattered that they were in the presence of the Royal Family of Durin. 

Bilbo softly bites his bottom lip in annoyance because he knew that his next action, his next words were going to be it. He knew that his next move would decide his fate. He knew that in the manner in which he responded to the man behind him, Bilbo would have to face his elder, his students, his colleagues, maybe even the Royal Council, and well, the very King himself. Bilbo knew and understood that his elder would have wanted him to bow his head and to submit to this man, to cower away. And as much as Bilbo would love to not get on the wrong side of the King, and the whole Kingdom really, he has no desire in bowing to the said man. He has no desire to follow suit with the wishes of the elder, and truly, the wishes of all others who would have wanted Bilbo to succumb to the King. 

“I think not.” Bilbo says as he resolutely turns around so that alas, he was face to face with the ever so dark and raven-haired man. The very man that was spiraling Bilbo’s rational life and mind into a frenzy based on a single meeting. This man that Bilbo had met only  _once_  was haunting him as if they had been together since their births, their lives connected and swen with the thickest thread. “To be the King’s appetizer, side dish, or even main dish for that matter, are not options nor choices that I would partake in should my life be on line _._ ” Bilbo says as he holds his head up, his orbs unwavering as the raven-haired man scans his dark eyes over Bilbo's face until he sees nothing but pure challenge in the young scholar's eyes. The right corner of the man's mouth tugs upwards, almost in satisfaction before he slowly leans in towards Bilbo, making the scholar freeze in place at their suddenly close proximity, his hands balled up into fists with the sudden reflexive urge to push the man away and to punch him, to beat him into the ground before running away and never looking back.

“The King, however, would want you as his appetizer, side dish, and main dish. Point in fact, he would want you as his every meal.” The man whispers, his face was mere inches away from that of Bilbo’s, their gazes locked, their orbs seeking the other out before the man continues, the small tug at his lip ever so present. “The King likes his meals to be exquisite in appearance yet bold in flavor.”

 “Unfortunately for the  _King,_ ” Bilbo says, his voice a saccharine sweetness that was as pseudo as the façade most nobles put on, his face right next to the raven-haired man's, the tips of their noses almost touching with surprise written in the taller man's eyes for a mere second before it disappears completely. “There are no such meals around. At least not any that I am aware of.” Bilbo says as he stares right into the dark orbs of the raven-haired man whose eyes shine bright with fascination and content.

“Indeed, that is unfortunate for the King.” The raven-haired man softly whispers as he slowly brings his hand up to Bilbo’s face who swiftly takes a step back, his gaze faltering for a mere second at the sudden act, his heart hammering so violently against his ribs, he stifles a gasp in his throat. The raven-haired man purses his lips into a thin, dissatisfied line before his fingers that were lingering in mid-air fall back down to his side, his gaze darkening as it peers right into Bilbo’s eyes, almost as if he was non-verbally telling Bilbo that he accepts the scholar's disobedience and crude manner and instead, he regards it as a _challenge_. “But alas, what the King wants, the King gets. So truly, it is not all that unfortunate.”

The man finally proclaims as he stares at Bilbo once more before he turns around and slowly makes his way to various scholars that quickly bring their attention to the royal persona. The taller man quickly merges himself within the crowd of the scholars and nobles as various topics of politics and the kingdom engross the hall. The men around the raven-haired man became so consumed with their talks that naught heeded any attention to what had just happened, most of them probably feigning their disinterest.

Bilbo silently stands still in his spot as he faintly hears the raven-haired man's voice echo here and there, a deep and resonate voice that slowly creeps it's way into Bilbo's ears, echoing deepen within him with a constant and steady hum wrapping itself around Bilbo, almost like a cocoon as the raven-haired man's—nay, the _King’s_ words violently throb in Bilbo's mind over and over and over as he swiftly and clumsily makes his way out of the hall and towards his room, the King's dark orbs haunting his every step.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“That wretched, grating, cheeky, bothersome, and utterly aggravating man!” Bilbo loudly proclaims as he circles about his room with quick steps, his little body fuming with pure anger. “What have I done wrong in my past life to be struck with such horrible fate?! What luck do I lack that I have must have an unfavorable meeting with that man of irksome!”

“That’s hardly polite, my scholarly beauty.” A voice muses as Bilbo swiftly snaps his head to the door of his room to find a man of average height with ash brown hair, a long face, a mustache that curls over his upper lip, and a set of clothes that  just about screeches wealth and status of high caliber. The type of wealth that belonged to those who clearly had done nothing to earn it because they were born with a silver in their mouth.

“Bofur?” Bilbo slowly says in complete bewilderment because he barely knew the said man and yet, here he was. Bilbo stands himself up right with small fixation to his clothes before drawing his gaze to the smiling man who was leaning on the door frame, eyes glowing with some sort of mischief. Bofur runs his gaze over a silent Bilbo with a set of amused eyes and an equally amused smirk before he pushes himself off the entrance way.

“To be so spiteful of the King this early in the morning is not so good for your healthy, my lovely.” Bofur lightly coos as latches an arm around Bilbo’s shoulder, who merely stares at the man in bafflement. “I dare say, you must have done some horrible deed to the King to make him target you. Or rather, he must have done something for you to abhor him so.”

“Bofur, if you have naught else to talk about besides this matter, then please do leave. I do not have neither the time nor the energy to exchange words with you at the moment.” Bilbo weakly says as he releases himself from Bofur’s grip, slowly making his way to his desk with the written papers of his students he has yet to even read because when he had left the hall in haste, he was in no mood to do anything, let alone read the papers of his students. 

Point in fact, after that meeting with the King, Bilbo felt as if he was skinned alive, bare and raw for the whole world to see and just simply worn down. He felt like he had fought a battle and he craved nothing more than a good rest, away from these all these nobles and royals that were becoming a sting in his rear. How was it possible for his hatred for the nobles to elevate so much due to  _one man?_ How on earth was it even possible for him to abhor another with only _two_ meetings between them?

“Bilbo?” Bofur asks with furrowed brows as he stares the silent Bilbo, the scholar's whole being seeming as if it was ready to collapse any second now, his gaze void. “Bilbo, is all well with you?”

Bilbo feels Bofur step towards him as he turns his gaze out towards the window with various thoughts endlessly roaming his mind. He slowly closes his eyes and attempts to block out every thought of that blasted man and his dark orbs and his stupid, _stupid_ words that were like chains on Bilbo's ankles, binding him against his will.

“Hey.” Bofur softly says as he notices the pained expression on Bilbo's face, the scholar's gaze still locked to his window and to the vast luxurious gardens that engrossed the entrance of the academy halls. Bofur stares out into the window in an attempt to follow Bilbo’s gaze but he finds nothing save for the empty gardens. He places a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder and slowly leans in. “Bilbo, is all _—_ ”

“Do not touch me!” Bilbo harshly ejects as he turns around and slaps Bofur’s hand away with dark emotions stirring in his light colored orbs. Bofur stumbles back at the sudden flare up, gawking Bilbo and his pained expression, as if Bofur's touch had _burned_ him.

Bofur silently stands still in his place with a cautious gaze, the slow burn of Bilbo's slap forming on his aching hand, a red mark that harshly contrasts against his tan skin. Bofur draws his eyes to Bilbo who strictly keeps his gaze attached to the floor, almost as if he was ashamed to have done what he did.

“J-Just leave me be.” Bilbo weakly utters in a whisper as he clenches his fists to his sides. “All of you—the King, the disgusting scholars in the gardens, you—Just leave me be. I do not wish to associate myself with you all. I beg you all to just leave me _be_.” Bilbo exclaims with a broken whisper as the dark liquid in his gaze softens to more of fragility and hesitance. He slowly raises his gaze up to the silent Bofur, Bilbo's gaze roaming Bofur’s for a brief period second before he exhales a scattered breath.

“I simply do not understand—” Bilbo starts before his voice gives in, making him stop and shut his eyes before continuing in a whisper that was barely heard. “Why must you all draw into my stable life? Why must you all come and bother me when I have done naught but my best to avoid you all. I have minded my own business and yet you all still bother me. Why must you all tear into my life?”

“—I mean no harm, Bilbo. I promise you.” Bofur slowly and finally says as he notices the genuinely confused and inquiring expression on Bilbo, his body suddenly petite and fragile, as if the smallest touch from Bofur would reopen the raw nerves that made Bilbo explode out in anger. “I do not know what the others have done and said to you, but I truly mean no-”

“I must seem like a fool to you then if you assume that I will believe your words, Bofur.” Bilbo retaliates with a stiff expression. “That I do not know of your reputation within these halls. Do you truly think I do not know what your true colors are?”

“My true colors?” Bofur repeats in confusion when he notices how serious Bilbo’s expression was.

“Yes. Your true colors of how you two face your way around the nobles in order to get your favor in. Point in fact, you are not to be trusted with women either as you have a new mistress per night. To say that you are concerned for me is like spit being thrown to my face. If you care not about the women and their feelings, they why should you consider mine?” Bilbo asks as he glares down the motionless Bofur.

Bilbo very well understood that he was unjustly heaving all these accusation onto Bofur due to his frustration and anger towards the King but he could care less right now because he just needs to let all of this anger out. And even more so, it was not as if Bilbo was spewing lies. Bofur does indeed use his parent’s wealth and power for his own indulges and he has been with countless women, wedded or not. So indeed, Bilbo’s uneasiness towards Bofur stems from Bofur’s nature, among many other things. Bilbo does not understand why this man is aiming to befriend him when Bilbo had made it quite clear that he has no intentions of have any association with any nobles or the rich. It was also no revelation that Bofur knew the actual identity of the King as his father was one of the King’s personal advisors.

“Well then. If I am to deny those claims in any way, you would detest me even more so, correct?” Bofur softly asks as he keeps a steady gaze on Bilbo whose eyes shine with the answer ' _yes_ ' rather than him speaking, his resolve hard. “Very well then, I will not deny those claims. Indeed, I use my parents wealth for my own benefits and chasing after the skirts of women is one of my hobbies. As you said, all this is true. However, for you to make claims that I am using you in any way or shape is not something I will admit to.” Bofur firmly says with unfaltering eyes, Bilbo’s expression slowly softening on his hardened face. Bofur watches Bilbo for a mere second more before a small smile tugs at his lips.

“When I first heard of how you were an introvert who kept his distance from us nobles, I became fascinated with you, Bilbo. I wanted to befriend you and prove to you that not all of us are as horrible as you make us out to be. Hence, my chasing after you every other day. Of course, I was shot down each and every time with that cold attitude and stubborn look. Yet, I was determined and motivated to get through that solidified wall you have built up between us nobles and yourself. I was and still am quite so determined to break that wall, Bilbo. I would truly like to have a genuine friendship with you.” Bofur says with a smile that in some strange way lightened the burden in Bilbo’s chest. 

“You spoke just like  _him,_ you know.” Bilbo softly mutters to himself as he peers down at the ground. “You proclaimed the exact same decree as that man _._ ”

“Ah. You mean how I am determined to befriend you?” Bofur lightly asks as he feels the previous tension in the room drift away and instead, a comforting calmness and stillness overtaking its place. “Or how I desire to break that walls of yours?”

“The latter _._ ” Bilbo mutters yet again without meeting Bofur’s eyes. “He too said that he was determined to get what he wants.” 

“I see that we nobles all share one factor in common: wanting Bilbo.” Bofur says with a gentle smile as his eyes twinkle in joy at his own joke. “But now that I think on it, the King taking interest in you is not anything out of the norm, Bilbo.” Bofur says as Bilbo brings all his attention to Bofur’s words at once, the moustached man deep in thought with a finger to his lips. “Indeed, the King has had many others throughout the years.” Bofur says as he drops his finger to his side before bringing his gaze to a stunned Bilbo whose face was flushed, the color drained from his skin, his eyes and mouth gaping alike. “Ah! That’s what I initially came here for! To inform you about previous individuals like yourself.”

“Previous?” Bilbo stutters with uneasy feelings stirring in his stomach, his chest constricting on its own, almost automatically at the mention of the King. Bilbo internally winces because anything to do with that man brought nothing but trouble. “The King’s had others—?”

“Indeed. Although majority of people assume that a King's prey is some sort of punishment or banishment for the selected person. But alas, that is far from the truth as they are nowhere near the actual truth of what a prey to the King really is.” Bofur says as he eyes a pale Bilbo.

“—So, what exactly _is_ the King’s prey then?” Bilbo finally whispers with his heart clenching and beating harshly against his ribs, a tight pain spreading all over his chest in dread and apprehension. He yearned for the answer to his question yet the same time, he did not. He did not want to hear naught more about the King nor anything in relation to him. He just wants the blasted man to disappear from his life, for things to go back to the way they were before King quite literally bumped into him, into his life. “What am I to the King then if that is what you came here to inform me of, Bofur?”

“Rather than myself informing you, I think it ought to be wiser to take you to someone who might be able to give you a more definite and accurate answer _._ ” Bofur softly says, cautiously eyeing Bilbo before he wraps his cloak around himself and slowly walks towards the door, swinging it open, his fingers resting on the door handle. He softly smiles at Bilbo who was unsure as to whether or not he should trust this noble and follow him. It was quite obvious that Bofur was not going to tell him anymore, so truly, Bilbo had no more choice than that of a chained prisoner, his will and rights stripped away.

“Very well. Before I go along with you, you need to answer a question of mine first.” Bilbo says, his curiosity overpowering his mind and getting the best of him in the end despite his conscience screaming him that this was a bad idea. That he was going to himself involve in something that he ought to not to. But his conscience be damned because if there truly was a person out there who could tell Bilbo what exactly the King's prey was and what he wanted from Bilbo, then maybe going with Bofur might not be such a horrible thought. “Who are you taking me to, Bofur?”

“I am taking you to Thranduil.” Bofur says as Bilbo’s face morphs into one of confusion at the unfamiliar name. “He and I are acquainted through mutual friends and he intimately knew the King not a couple of years ago. And If my guess is right, he is most probably still residing not far from outside these palace halls, so we should be able to find the answers to all your questions if we leave before sunset.”

“Thranduil.” Bilbo tastes the name on his tongue as he whispers it to himself over and over with an unusual and bitter sensation overcoming his being. This Thranduil person seemed as if he was the King’s prey and now what, Bilbo was his replacement?

Bilbo draws a tired hand through his equally tired face, an irritated sigh escaping his lips as he stares up at Bofur, the man's hand still on the open door, his body ready and eager to set out. And as much as Bilbo would have loved to just crawl into his bed and forget everything in the world, his curiosity was now ruthlessly tugging at his being, not allowing him even an inch of space to breath because damn it all, he shall get to the bottom of this, whatever  _this_  was.

"Very well then. Take the lead." Bilbo says as he turns around and grabs his cloak, his hands slightly trembling in uneasiness and anticipation. Out of the corner of his eye, Bilbo notices a small smile on Bofur's lips as he steps out of the room and waits for Bilbo. With one last glance to his room and attire, Bilbo steps through the door and out of the room, his shoulders nearly touching Bofur's. "Take me to Thranduil." Bilbo says as Bofur gives him a playful salute before he marches down the familiar halls and corridors of the Palace and its inhabitants, the very ones that for once were placed at the bottom of Bilbo's mind because they were irrelevant. All he could think about was Thranduil and how Bilbo was playing his part now, or so he assumed because truly, there was only so much that Bofur had informed him on.

"Thranduil." Bilbo softly says to himself once more as marches down the final corridor, the Palace gates gleaming down on him in their solid and grand beauty before they part open for him, the fresh air of the city and it's people overwhelming and crushing Bilbo all it once. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if you guys follow me on tumblr, you would know that I am barely on these days because of school and life, so thus such a late update. But I will try to update as often as I can, so please bear with me! Also, I decided throw Thranduil in because believe it or not, there A LOT of ThorinxThranduil shippers, so I was like "eh. i ship it too now." So bam! Ya'll get some Thranduil. 
> 
> And lastly, I get to share some super adorable fanart that was drawn by the sweetest girl ever. You can see it [here](http://thilbo.tumblr.com/post/43695295707/got-dem-kili-fili-feels-thilbo-doodles-for-my) on my blog and it's based off of the first chapter. Isn't it the cutest thing ever?! Thank you [Dayne](http://got-dem-kili-fili-feels.tumblr.com/) for drawing it!


	4. Chapter 4

“ _Do not lose sight of me, Bilbo, my love._ ” Bofur gleefully chirps as he briskly side steps in between people from here to there in long and confident strides, bypassing strangers and townsmen that would stop and stare at the black-haired noble before their eyes fell upon the fair and pale golden-haired young man who uneasily trudged behind, his gaze to the floor.

Bilbo felt completely burdened and insecure under the stares of the people of Erebor, this being his very first time in almost a decade that he has left the Palace. He feels sorely out of place and uneasy, the stares of the people too much, the bustling of city life too loud, the countless aromas of the market stalls too overwhelming, and the atmosphere of everything just too foreign to him. He felt out of place among the common people, among those where he once hailed from.

And strangely enough, that should not even be remotely possible because Bilbo was among his own kind, among people that were just like him. They were not the nobles or aristocrats that he despised so much. Indeed, they were just the common man that Bilbo should have felt closer to and at home with and yet, he felt more out of place here than he did in the Palace.

Bilbo slightly wraps his cloak around his slender body as he feels the heated gazes from women of various ages and from men who were not that much older than him. Endless gazes fell upon the new golden-haired city dweller who appeared like a sore thumb in a crowd, his entire body and walking posture unsure and lacking. Bilbo tried not to pay too much heed to all the attention he was getting but there was only so much a person could take, his body trembling under the scrutiny. Bilbo mutters under his breath in distaste, the dislike and annoyance he constantly felt towards the nobles slowly making its way towards the people of Erebor.

And that simply does not sit well with Bilbo because truly, how is it possible for him to despise these people when they are just like him, regular commoners who strive each day to make ends meet. Why does his mind and heart distrust such people when they have done nothing to him. Indeed, they are gazing at him a bit too much but nonetheless they turn away and mind their business, going about their lives. In contrast, the rotten and horrendous nobles never have anything better to do than to pester and leech over Bilbo, constantly and never endingly.

Ashamed and disheartened at his own thoughts, Bilbo lightly hangs his head as he closely follows Bofur who would wink at a young lady every so often. Bilbo peeks around the corners of his eyes as he observes the everyday market of Erebor. There stood numerous stalls with fresh and exotic fruits and vegetables from different regions, all in various sizes and colors. There stood clothe shops with some of the finest materials and silk from across the kingdom. There stood children with their parents as their little eyes gawked at everything around them, joy and mischief twinkling in their orbs.

There stood the proud and happy people of Erebor who thrived with life and content.

“After seeing all this, do you still think you ought to hate the King?” Bofur slyly asks as he had somehow made his way back to Bilbo’s side, throwing a loose arm around the golden-headed scholar. Bilbo furrows his brows at the royal lad’s arm around his shoulder, his pace slowing down as he looks up at Bofur who merely nods his head towards the market that Bilbo had observed not a minute ago. “Look how happy and pleased these people are. You can see in their gazes and smiles that they enjoy their days, that they are living a filling and content life. And it’s all due thanks to the very King you dislike so much.”

“My dislike towards him will not lessen because of his treatment towards his people. It is a given fact that a King should fairly and equally govern his people. So truly, he has not done anything that deserves my praise nor the lessening of my dislike for him.” Bilbo firmly says as Bofur gapes at him with amused orbs before he releases a clear and hearty laugh.

“You, my newly found friend, are truly amazing. Just as your elder said.” Bofur says as he makes his way towards the end of the market hall, the crowd thinning out and the stalls disappearing one by one, the edge of the city market disappearing altogether. Bofur walks a step more before he notices that Bilbo had stopped in place. Bofur turns around and quirks an eyebrow towards the scholar. “Why the sudden stop, my love?”

“You know the Elder?” Bilbo incredulously asks as he slowly inches towards Bofur who slowly nods his head, his own brows furrowed. Bilbo’s face elevates in surprise before it settles on curiosity. “But how? My Elder rarely knows anyone outside of the Commission.”

“Indeed, that is true. But the Elder is not just some random stranger that I met coincidently in the Kingdom. He is a distant relative of the royal family. I might be even related to him. I think.” Bofur flatly says with no interest as he releases a slow yawn, his eyes roaming over the city gates. He quirks his head towards the sun that was slightly hidden behind the proud mountains, its rays soft but brilliant as it lay gentle shadows over the sky. It was getting darker and they had yet to even reach Thranduil.

“A relative of the royals?! My elder?!” Bilbo exclaims in complete and utter bewilderment, his voice louder than he had intended as various stall owners turn their attention towards him. Bilbo however keeps his gaze focused on Bofur who stood stunned and amused in his place. It was not every day that he witnessed the mighty scholar so out of character and so loud. “Since when where you relatives? How is that possible? The Elder never told my anything about this.”

“I was his relative since I was—born.” Bofur slowly says with a blank face as he tries to process how a bright and intelligent person like Bilbo could not even comprehend the simple idea of how people were related. “And he must have not told you anything because he rarely tells anyone about his family relations. I bet half of the Commissioners know naught about his family heritage.”

“Huh.” Bilbo merely says with a small nod of his , filing that information for later when he can confront the elder. And before Bilbo can another word out, Bofur marches up to Bilbo and firmly grips the golden-head's hand, catching the scholar off-guard. “What are you doing?”

“We have wasted more than enough time dilly-dallying, my love!” Bofur exclaims as he turns around and picks up his speed, first from a fast paced walked and then to a consistent jog through the maze of people, Bilbo’s hand firmly interlinked with his, a full grin plastered on Bofur’s face. “The sun will set soon so we must get to Thranduil before that!”

“Before the sun sets?” Bilbo asks in between breaths as the running slowly starts to take a toll on him, his body almost on the verge of forgetting what it was like to run carefree and nonstop.

Since his arrival at the Palace years ago, Bilbo had lost in touch with his athleticism since he was always coiled up in the library or his room, studying day in and day out. And yet here he is years later running around like it was easy as breathing when truly, it was not. He grips Bofur’s hands more so in comfort than anything else, his body endlessly ramming into the people around him. He was really never good at dodging people considering the fact that he was born a clumsy person, breaking a thing here and falling down there. But of course, no soul needed to  _know_  that little fact and he’ll carry it to the grave with him.

“Thranduil is a gypsy. He is always on the move.” Bofur exclaims loudly with a small smile, his body radiating with sheer joy, as if running was his key to happiness. He finally and thankfully slows down when he comes to the edge of city, the outer limits where the Kingdom’s gates stood tall and proud in sight, everything else a blur to Bilbo as he desperately tries to find some air to suck into his too dry and weak lungs. “He lives in temporary homes and he usually relocates at night. So if we desire to see him, we must get to him before night falls.”

Bilbo merely nods his head in reply as he had no energy whatsoever left in his lungs to speak, his body almost screaming in sheer delight when Bofur finally stops running and releases Bilbo’s hand. The two silently stand there for a brief period of time as they bring a generous amount of air back into their lungs, Bofur brightly grinning at Bilbo who straightens himself up before he goes still.

He turns his head left and right, surveying his surroundings before faces Bofur again, eyeing the royal man with narrowed eyes. Bofur merely quirks a brow up, ready to speak before Bilbo's gaze draws past Bofur and towards the tall gates that welcome his sight.

“Why are we at the Kingdom’s gates, Bofur?” Bilbo asks in a small voice as he eyes the elegant yet powerful gold colored gates that were adorned with dragons, lilies, and wreaths that rightfully belong to the Royal family of the Durin’s. The gates that the very first Durin King had built himself, the gates that protected the Kingdom of Erebor from numerous wars and onslaughts, the gates that gave people hope, the gates that Bilbo was raised in, the gates that symbolized that everything that Erebor and the Durin’s stood upon.

“Thranduil resides outside of these walls, Bilbo. He does not live in Erebor.” Bofur says softly as he watches Bilbo’s expression soften with  some uneasiness in them. Bofur immediately notices a glimpse of uncertainty in Bilbo's eyes as he steps forward and softly places a hand on the scholar’s shoulders, the desire to soothe and reassure the young lad suddenly strong. “Fear not, Bilbo. There is no harm outside of these gates as I have being through them countless times.”

“I have not left the palace in years. In fact, this is the first time that I have done so in a decade. But to step outside of the Kingdom—I am not quite too certain of this.” Bilbo mutters as he eyes the giant walls and gates that towered over him in all their glory and elegance, it’s pristine stones powerful and ancient. He gazes upon the gates and cannot help think of the raven-haired man, his mind supplying thoughts of how the man was just like the gates; tall, resilient, and elegant.

Bilbo internally shakes his head and scolds his mind at the silliness of even thinking of the blasted man when here he was trying to find a way to get out of his little game of prey. Truly, he must be losing his mind or all this running with Bofur must be finally getting to him because he should not be thinking of anything but of ridding himself of the blasted raven-haired man—nay, the _King_.

 “If you want the answers to your questions, then this the only way.” Bofur says with a small smile, his gaze encouraging and gentle. “Besides, there is no need to be afraid of anything, my love. I am here.”  

“I shall hold you accountable then if anything ought to happen to me, Master Bofur.” Bilbo mutters in defeat as Bofur catches the playful tone in the other’s voice, bringing a wide smile to Bofur’s lips as he grins down at the scholar. If he did not know any better, it seems as if Bilbo Baggins, the cold and stubborn scholar might he add, was starting to trust Bofur and well, that was enough to send the royal man to the skies and beyond because a companionship with Bilbo is all he ever sought after for months.

Beaming with happiness and energy, Bofur wraps his arm around Bilbo’s shoulder and confidently leads the way towards the gates that possibly held answers to Bilbo’s questions once they were opened. Answers to unnecessary questions that the damned raven-haired had sparked within Bilbo.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bilbo silently and slowly runs his gaze over the rich and green grass field that ran on endlessly, from the hills of one end to the steep drops of the other end, its grass like a green ocean with golden streaks. Bilbo stares at the lush earth in sheer awe as he has never seen such beauty that ran on forever, such earthly splendor that was so raw and natural, so untouched by humans.

Indeed, any fields that were once visible and found in the Palace and the city were long gone because the only fields visible now were those used by farmers, alongside miniature gardens. The Palace barely had any room for fields such as the one in front of Bilbo, a rarity in today’s world with more humans overtaking a new speck of land each day. The empty and bare beauty that lay in front of Bilbo was truly worthy of stealing one’s breath.

Bilbo runs his gaze over the remaining bits of the land, further off into the distance before he notices small dark spots all over the field that looked somewhat like lodgings yet not quite. He squints his eyes in concentration and sure enough, he makes out of the outline of small tent-like houses that were extremely colorful and unique in design. These were definitely the dwellings of the gypsies that Bofur kept informing him about.

“Not so bad nor scary now, is it?” Bofur asks as he comes up to stands next to Bilbo, the two slowly absorbing in every bit of serene beauty that is of the fields and the sun gleaming over it, the soft blades of grass dancing with the gentle breeze of the wind, a calamity falling upon everything in sight.

“It’s so different.” Bilbo softly says with his gaze focused on the colorful tents that contrasted against the solid earth. “I have never seen something so simple yet beautiful. It puts the Palace’s fields to shame.”

“I advise you not to say that to the King’s face then, my love.” Bofur says with a laugh as he taps Bilbo’s shoulder before he mounts his way down a slope like pathway, rocks of all sizes and shapes coming in sight, trees of every shade of green touching the sky, the setting sun a warm companion on Bilbo’s skin as he slowly follows the royal man’s lead.

“And why should I not?” Bilbo counters as he carefully trudges down the grass and mud like road, his sandals emitting a squelching gasp with each step. “Why must I always try to please him when there are things in this vast world that are simply better than him? Like this field for instance. It puts his Palace and halls to shame.”

“My, my. You must truly dislike the King to compare his Palace to grass.” Bofur teases with a smile as reaches the end of the slope and cranes his neck left and right before squinting his eyes, gazing into the distance as he slowly scans the field before he lays his eyes upon a tall and beautiful tent, one that completely stands out from all the rest.

“Whether it is dislike or not, I simply do not bode well with that man and—” Bilbo starts before he was quickly cut short by a loud holler from Bofur who grabs Bilbo’s hand yet again, tugging the scholar forward as he breaks into yet another run that makes Bilbo groan in displeasure.

The two slowly make their way through the fields that felt like soft silk under their feet, the fresh sensation and aroma of earth, mud, and grass melting into their nostrils, bringing about a sense of wholeness. This place was truly starting to appeal to Bilbo with each passing second, the earth and trees utterly enticing him with each passing step, the calamity of the fields a dear companion already as his body wholly welcomes the serenity.

If Bilbo did not have his desire to be in the Commission, he might have given serious consideration to becoming a gypsy just to have a reason to reside here, to bask in these fields day in and day out, not having anything to worry about nor anyone as the earth would be his one and only friend. He could see himself already, swimming in the nearby lakes, reading under the grand and colossal trees, grilling fresh fish and sleeping under the stars.

He could imagine all this for himself and yet, that’s about as far as he will get to this little fantasy of his because reality did not work that way. Nay, reality was a harsh entity that thrived off of the broken dreams and frustration of other’s, giving them a single glance into the beautiful world of happiness and contentment before pulling them back by the reigns, locking away all the pleasant pieces of life and instead, handing out the horrid pieces.

Such was reality and such was Bilbo’s life.

“Lo and behold!” Bofur exclaims in glee as the two newly-made companions near a magnificent purple and gold tent that was not only tall in height compared to the rest but also as wide as a residential home.

Bilbo runs his gaze over the intricate and elegant designs of flowers, wreaths, and laces that were embedded into the exterior of the tent, various trinkets of jewels that hung on the hems of the tent shrilling against the wind, producing gentle music like sounds that were foreign yet wonderful to Bilbo’s ears. He had never seen such majestic beauty on such a simple thing as a tent cloth, not even within the halls of the kingdom that reeked with pure gold.

Bilbo slowly inches forward, completely forgetting about Bofur who was quickly greeted by whom Bilbo presumes to be a gypsy as the two animatedly clasp hands and start chatting, leaving the scholar to edge towards the tent. He scans the entrance of the tent for a mere second, hesitating on whether he should enter or not before his curiosity wins him over, his hands clasping the flap of the tent as he pulls it apart and cautiously enters the tent.

He slowly scans the various objects and pottery alongside the entrance of the tent that welcome him before he notices musical instruments that were rarely used in the halls of the Palace, ones that he has never even seen before. Once inside the tent completely, Bilbo slowly closes the ends of the tent behind him as he peers into the tent, his eyes automatically drawing to the floor.

The ground was covered with an enormous carpet that was beautiful in design and intricate in colors, its soft cloth housing a small bed at the right corner of the tent. There were also some handmade chairs near plants and flowers of numerous shapes and sizes, decorations of various sorts hanging from above the clothed ceiling.

Bilbo turns a little leftwards and notices a small but dazzling hearth that heated the room with its warmth and comfort, its bright light illuminating the room in red and gold. And as he observes every little knick knack in the tent, almost every object catching his attention, his eyes come upon a male figure that was seated at the far end of the tent with his side to Bilbo, his face casted downwards as he read a book of some sort.

And seeing how it was the first human that Bilbo had come in contact with since he had left the Palace, Bilbo freezes in place and merely gawks at the other person, subconsciously craning his head to get a better view of the person. Now mind you, Bilbo is not one who rubs his nose in other’s business but for some odd reason, he could not help but be stare at the seated figure because his aura was so mysterious yet so blasted alluring.

Not only that, but the person’s physicality was like none other as Bilbo’s eyes gawk in sheer awe and wonder. The seated male had fair skin that was surely rare for a gypsy since most of them roamed in the sun, his skin pristine and unmarked with neither moles nor blemishes, his cheekbones high and sharp. His hair was neither black nor brown but rather a blinding sliver that gave off silkiness in each of its long and thin strands. And his eyes!

They were deepest shade of blue, round and perfect as they contrasted against his pale skin, his cheeks slightly tinted with pastel pink alongside his rosy lips that were thin but luscious, slight movements appearing among them every now and then as the male read a word or two aloud, a soft whisper of sentences here and there.

And with each passing second of silent watching from Bilbo, the young scholar was utterly and hopelessly left stunned at the beauty of a human that lay in front of him. Surely, no man could have hair that smooth, a face that perfect, and clothes that fit another so magnificently. He had never laid eyes upon a woman so picturesque and elegant, let alone a man!

Surely, if the people of the Palace had thought Bilbo was a beauty, then they had yet to see this man as Bilbo knew very well that he held naught to this figure.

“Am I to your liking, young man?” The male asks with his gaze steadily locked onto his book whereas Bilbo clumsily retracts from the entrance of the tent in alarm, his entire body flushing in sheer embarrassment. He quickly holds onto a wooden lever of the tent to balance himself as he releases as series of awkward breaths and strained coughs.

He has never felt so embarrassed and ashamed in all his life to have been caught staring like a young maiden in the courts, swooning over every single male that passed by. Point in fact, he has never crept on others in all the years he has been in the Palace and to be caught for such a thing was truly embarrassment of the highest degree.

“My apologies for disturbing you, sir.” Bilbo quickly and meekly says with his gaze downward because he dares not to raise his eyes to the beautiful male whose eyes were still pinned to his book. “I have no excuse for my actions. To be so rude as to peer into your home, please—”

“I did not ask for your forgiveness, young man. I simply asked if I am to your liking.” The older male calmly says with a voice that was smooth like music, pleasant and gentle to the ears. The male slowly shut his book and lightly lays it down on the table next to him, the cover of the book old and torn, his fingers lightly tracing the leather binds. He then slowly turns towards Bilbo, his ethereal face welcoming Bilbo’s sight before he slowly stands up, his entire physique stunning from head to toe with his beauty and radiance. 

“I presume I am to your liking since you gape and stare at me as such.” The male says with that gentle voice as he stares down at Bilbo, making the young scholar raise his gaze for a mere second, the two silently sharing a moment before Bilbo quickly hangs his head, his own cheeks flushed.

“I know this is not the answer that you desired but once again, please excuse me for my rash actions.” Bilbo firmly says with a bow his head, his gaze never leaving his feet because truly, he has he stared at the beautiful man for far too long. He barged into this man’s house like a mindless fool and that does not sit well with him, so an apology and a bow head is the least he can offer.  Even more so, it is in Bilbo’s nature to show respect to those that he has either wronged or disturbed, so truly, there is no way Bilbo is leaving this man without a sincere apology.

The older male silently eyes Bilbo with deep eyes that scan the young scholar from head to toe before he brings his gaze back up to Bilbo’s face. The male narrows his eyes for a mere second, sizing up Bilbo before he elegantly crosses his slender arms across his chest, his head slightly cocked to the right.

“Do you truly not have any interest towards me?” The male asks with his melodious voice as Bilbo slowly raises his head up to the peculiar question before the man continues, his perfect face now creased with wrinkles on his brows and lips strained thin. “Am I not to your liking then?”

“To my liking—?” Bilbo repeats in confusion, his own brows furrowed in bafflement as the man stares Bilbo down with all his might, as if Bilbo’s existence itself was a sudden nuisance, as if single wrong word from Bilbo’s mouth will be more than enough of an excuse for the man to slaughter Bilbo without a second thought. “Please forgive me but I do not seem to understand your question, sir.”

“Oh come now. I am no fool by any means if you think I did not notice the way you devoured me with your eyes. Surely, you must have taken a liking to me. Otherwise—”

“My apologies once again, sir, but I am in no position to like or dislike you upon such basis. It is indeed true that I was—watching you but it was not in the sense that you might think.”

“Then in what sense were you watching me, young man?”

“Uh—well, this is quite embarrassing to say but in the sense that I have never seen a male so exquisite and stunning such as yourself.” Bilbo meekly says in sheer honesty as he watches the liquid in the older male’s orbs suddenly melt into a look that was somewhat _warmer_ , for a lack of a better term. The man silently stares at Bilbo, his sudden and entire attention pinning Bilbo to the spot, making the scholar feel extremely self-conscious and restless. Bilbo quickly retracts his eyes from the older male’s and instead opts to gaze around the tent once more, trying hard to ignore the gaze of the other on his skin.

“Who are you, young man?” The beautiful male finally asks in a voice that was soft yet firm. Bilbo withdraws his eyes from the walls of the tent and snaps his gaze to the man who merely raises a perfect brow in question, his whole demeanor waiting in patience.

“I am Bilbo Baggins.” Bilbo finally says with a weak nod to the head. “And you must be Thranduil, correct?”

“Indeed that I am.” Thranduil says with obvious surprise in his voice and most certainly in his face if his raised brows and gleaming orbs are anything to go by. “But how do you know of me? Surely, we have never met before. I must ask, who are you and why are you here?”

“I am scholar of the Durin Academy and I am here because I heard that you had a previous—uh, well—that is a previous relationship with the King.” Bilbo uneasily and inelegantly says, his cheeks flushing at the thought of all that sentence implied, his heart thundering in anxiousness and discomfort at the thought of the King and Thranduil, in their most intimate moments; images that Bilbo most certainly did not want.

Oh, how foolish he was to trust that Bofur! This is most certainly awkward and wretched and he feel so out of place here, in front of this beautiful man, carelessly referring about his past love life when Bilbo wants to do nothing more than to go back to the Palace and just lock himself away in his room.

“—How do you now of such a thing?” Thranduil asks with a suddenly grave expression, making his beautiful features strain in such a way, that he looked even more stunning to the young scholar. And before Bilbo could give Thranduil an answer, Bofur leisurely walks into the tent with various scrolls tucked under his arm, a small grin on his lips as he saunters his way in.

“I told him, Thranduil.” Bofur says as he hands Bilbo the scrolls before flashing a handsome smile towards Thranduil, the beautiful gypsy gaping right back at him. “Why the surprised face, my princess? Did you pine for me so much that you cannot believe that I am really here?”

“Bofur?” Thranduil starts before Bofur walks up to the surprised male as he embraces his old colleague into a firm and lazy hug, a hug that Bilbo curiously watches from the side. Bilbo has never truly hugged others, so he found such acts strange and unfamiliar.

“I dare say, Bofur!” Thranduil proclaims with fume rising in his face as he withdraws from the hug, his eyes boring dark holes into Bofur, his arms crossed and unhappy. “You come and go as you wish! Not taking into consideration that I am a gyspy! My location is not to be known to those outside!”

“Oh come now, Thranduil.” Bofur says with a pat to Thranduil’s cheek before he turns towards Bilbo, catching the scholar off-guard as all the attention was on him now, his hands lamely clasped around the scrolls. “I would not even think of visiting you without your permission, Thranduil. But seeing how my dear friend here needed help, I just knew I had to find you.”

“Help?” Thranduil repeats as he draws his gaze to an uneasy Bilbo, boring the same holes into the young scholar’s face. “What am I to help him with, Bofur? I have never met this young man before.”

“But you have met the King.” Bofur says as he stands next to Bilbo, wrapping a lazy arm around the silenced scholar. “And so has he.”

At Bofur’s statement, Thranduil’s eyes dilate twice their size as he snaps his neck to Bilbo who meekly smiles in return, uneasily holding the beautiful gypsy’s gaze. Thranduil looks back at Bofur with various emotions flashing through his face before Bofur nods his head, silently confirming whatever Thranduil’s mind concluded on.

“You mean to tell me that this young man is the King’s—?” Thranduil finally asks as he eyes Bilbo before Bofur nods his head yet again. “He is the King’s—”

“It was not that long ago. A couple of weeks at most.” Bofur says as runs his gaze over the two immobile beauties in the room, one in sheer shock while the other in confusion. “That’s why we are here. We need your help.”

“—My help? What exactly am I to help you with?” Thranduil tiredly asks as he slowly slumps into his chair with whatever partial energy left in his limbs, his head throbbing in sudden waves of discomfort and bafflement. “Once you have become the King’s prey, you are his prey. Nothing can change that. So there is no point in me helping—”

“But what on earth is a king’s prey?” Bilbo boldly asks as he pushes past Bofur and towards the seated gypsy, towering over him with his short height. “I don’t need your help in anything else aside from telling me what a King’s prey is. That is all the help I ask of you, Master Thranduil.” Bilbo unwaveringly says as he firmly stands in front of Thranduil who stares up at him with thoughtful eyes, his lips pursed and drawn thin, his body lazily slumped back into the chair.

“The King’s prey is what it is: his prey.” Thranduil slowly says as he carefully watches Bilbo. “You are his and his alone once you have been chosen by him.”

“—Am I his servant then? Or perhaps a retainer?” Bilbo asks with furrowed brows, half of his mind not quite grasping what Thranduil meant while the other half was telling him that there was more to this “prey” than the King had let on back in the halls. Bilbo’s whole body at the moment was churning in uneasiness because no good news came along with that blasted raven-haired man.

“You are none of those to the King, Bilbo Baggins.” Thranduil slowly says as he firmly holds Bilbo’s gaze, his face grave and serious, his aura suddenly sharp and somber with its edges prickling Bilbo’s soft skin in cold and harsh streaks. “You are now the King’s consort.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I just want to thank you all for all the kudos and comments! I sincerely appreciate it! Secondly, please do give me some feedback/constructive criticism because there is always room for improvement for me! I would love to hear your opinions on each chapter and how I can improve or what would make the story/plot better! 
> 
> Finally, if you guys had to choose a love interest for Bilbo, who would it be. I am curious :D


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